"For from thee breathes the odour of a name
Whose sweetness melts my soul and dimns my eyes;
And in thy mystic leaves of woe and shame
I read a tale to which my heart replies
In voiceless throbbing and devoted sighs;
Death's darkest agony and mercy's claim,

And love's last words of grief are written in thy dyes."

SONNETT TO THE PASSION FLOWER.

LONDON:

THOMAS BOSWORTH, 215, REGENT STREET.

1854.

280.2.236.

HEC

LONDON:

G. J. PALMER, SAVOY STREET, STRAND.

INTRODUCTION.

I LOVE the nooks and corners of Old England! I have been a wanderer upon the earth, and my life has been strangely chequered; still my heart warms when I behold the bright and sunny spots of my native land. The village church with its ivied tower, the ruined abbey and baronial hall, the woodland glen and forest glade, have each a peculiar beauty, which is only to be found in English scenery. Under the influence of this feeling I have often rambled out of my way to

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